I awake early and spend half an hour trying to negotiate my way down the ladder off the bunk bed without kneeling or bashing my knee on the ladder and without waking my new bunkmate below.
My reward for success is the guarantee of a long, hot shower, as I still seem to have most of the Ugandan undergrowth locked in my hair.
Alice leaves us today as she will spend a short time in Rwanda before going on her own to Ethiopia and then home. She has been a lively and fun member of the group, quick to get excited over every experience and we will miss her.
It’s all a bit of a rush and we are soon on the road again. The roads are smooth and easy as we wind through the mountains, lush and green and we arrive early in Kigale and the Genocide Museum. I have had a long internal debate about whether to visit this place. After my visit to the Holocaust Museum in Washington I know I do not need to see a dramatised reproduction of the atrocities that man can commit against his fellow human beings to understand the horror and scale of that horror. My going will not prevent it happening again elsewhere. I would like to believe that were I caught in such a conflict I could not do anything to hurt another human being but until each of us face that demon we cannot know how we will act. With courage or cowardice. What horrific acts would we commit to protect our own family? I follow the group reluctantly inside. This museum is not at all like the one in Washington DC. There is no drama. There is only peace and the personal accounts of individuals caught up in the atrocities. People who today have to find a way to continue their lives. The chronological history and political situation is explained. Some personal effects and photos of those missing or knowingly murdered. It is a simple memorial and also place for those who have lost loved ones to go to find peace and know that they will not be forgotten. I exit, humbled and subdued but still not sure what I have gained from such a visit except, maybe, a better understanding of how much influence the media can have in supporting such a diabolical event. Perhaps even more so today, when we look at the chain of events in North Africa and the Middle East.
It’s not far to the camp site on the other side of town and whilst everyone else disappears to local shops, Jed agrees that it’s time to remove the stitches, even though the knee is far from healed. Makeshift suture removal kit is cobbled together from various toiletry and first aid kits and I grit my teeth. Jed is great though and fortunately, several people seem to have steristrips in their kits, meaning we have the means to still hold the cut together. Although still painful and sore, I am amazed at how much more movement I have with the stitches out. Thanks Jed.
My reward for success is the guarantee of a long, hot shower, as I still seem to have most of the Ugandan undergrowth locked in my hair.
Alice leaves us today as she will spend a short time in Rwanda before going on her own to Ethiopia and then home. She has been a lively and fun member of the group, quick to get excited over every experience and we will miss her.
It’s all a bit of a rush and we are soon on the road again. The roads are smooth and easy as we wind through the mountains, lush and green and we arrive early in Kigale and the Genocide Museum. I have had a long internal debate about whether to visit this place. After my visit to the Holocaust Museum in Washington I know I do not need to see a dramatised reproduction of the atrocities that man can commit against his fellow human beings to understand the horror and scale of that horror. My going will not prevent it happening again elsewhere. I would like to believe that were I caught in such a conflict I could not do anything to hurt another human being but until each of us face that demon we cannot know how we will act. With courage or cowardice. What horrific acts would we commit to protect our own family? I follow the group reluctantly inside. This museum is not at all like the one in Washington DC. There is no drama. There is only peace and the personal accounts of individuals caught up in the atrocities. People who today have to find a way to continue their lives. The chronological history and political situation is explained. Some personal effects and photos of those missing or knowingly murdered. It is a simple memorial and also place for those who have lost loved ones to go to find peace and know that they will not be forgotten. I exit, humbled and subdued but still not sure what I have gained from such a visit except, maybe, a better understanding of how much influence the media can have in supporting such a diabolical event. Perhaps even more so today, when we look at the chain of events in North Africa and the Middle East.
It’s not far to the camp site on the other side of town and whilst everyone else disappears to local shops, Jed agrees that it’s time to remove the stitches, even though the knee is far from healed. Makeshift suture removal kit is cobbled together from various toiletry and first aid kits and I grit my teeth. Jed is great though and fortunately, several people seem to have steristrips in their kits, meaning we have the means to still hold the cut together. Although still painful and sore, I am amazed at how much more movement I have with the stitches out. Thanks Jed.
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